Sunday, February 24, 2008

Heart & Skin Etchings

I have been immersing myself in artistic adventures the past few days, trying to reconnect my heart and soul and relight my spirit. It's been a dark winter for me.

On Thursday, I experienced my first tattoo. The artist was an incredible visionary, Ray Hughes. He brought to living form my desire for a tribal rose and captured my idea of a symbol of breaking through the barriers, pleasure overriding pain. I need to get a little more added in a few weeks -- and as people had told me, tattoos are addictive. Certainly, the rose was my first marque but definitely not my last.

Friday night brought strobing lights and pulsating beats from Martina McBride into my veins. The lights, the warmth of the crowd, the energy of the bands infused me with strength. Lady Antebellum opened followed by Jack Ingram, a new favorite for me. Then, with my husband at my side, Martina captivated me from her opening song ("Do It Anyway," my all-time favorite) to her ending refrain of "Independence Day." Thank you, Martina -- I will dream it, sing it, do it . . . anyway.

A short trek on Saturday took hubby and me to the doorstep of dear friends. Hugs and kisses and a day with loved ones soothed my soul aches. I spent the better part of the afternoon rambling through the Indianapolis Museum of Art with my dearest friend, holding his hand, drawing on his strength, reveling in the smorgasbord of colors and textures and creative designs that drew me in. Ahhhh . . . what a fantastic feast for my psyche! A black and white canvas in the contemporary gallery drew me the length of the room, with friend in tow -- negative and positive spaces so vibrantly alive. Popping off the wall, the lines were speaking to me in their mystical manner, telling me to reconnect, to find my inner strength, to discover my way from darkness to light. That moment is driving me forward, urging me into the light. In the past months of struggle, not once did I imagine that I needed to tap my visual artistic side to help reconnect with my musical self and repair my brokenness. A conversation with my best friend about artists' tendencies to dabble in a variety of media -- even across artistic domains -- flipped a light switch in my head. How blind I have been!

Later Saturday evening, I had the joy of seeing another friend perform live in Apartment 3A. Not quite comedy, not strictly drama, the play was both entertaining and thought-provoking -- and yet another way to connect with my artistic side. The take-away: you must waltz with the one you love. Sometimes, that needs to be yourself. Your spirit. Your inner child. Your creativity set free. And you can begin even without music . . . just count to three . . . and go.

The best part of the whole weekend was, of course, the arms of friends. The smiles of small children. The warmth of being pulled into an embrace of someone who has missed you, and cares, and hopes and dreams for you. I thank the heavens for my friends -- they're treasured gemstones, each cut differently but none less brilliant when set in the perfect setting designed to showcase their brilliance. They love me so much and teach me about myself. And when I can't shine, they shine for me.

I hope and pray, though, that after the etchings left on my skin and my heart over the past few days heal, that I might be able to shine again. My light went out several months ago and the dark has been so cold, so numbing. The prick of the tattoo needle brought me back to consciousness -- although I never felt its pain. Now, I hope to soon feel the burning flames of hopes and dreams again. I feel a spark of a dream whispering in my ear. I taste the sweet scent of a burning flame, slowly starting to grow inside me. I smell the wax of sadness slowly melting away from me. I hear songs slowly coming back to me, joining in choruses.

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